


And Inbetween Their Bodies It Was Raining

by orphan_account



Series: Agents and Ministers of Grace [5]
Category: Agent Carter - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, NSFW, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 12:52:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3290987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Took a risk, gentle readers.  Hope it pans out.  Peggy returns from Russia and does what she should have done before she left. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Inbetween Their Bodies It Was Raining

When Dottie had bemoaned Angie’s refusal to come out of her room, citing “ennui,” Peggy felt more than a little guilty. She knew she was the cause of it. She knew that Angie wanted more from her than she was prepared to give her. Peggy wanted to give her more. But it was always about the danger, the danger. The very real danger of … whomever… using Angie against her, or of getting an innocent girl caught in the crossfire of something she had less than nothing to do with. And then the other danger, more abstract but no less frightening -- despite knowing that Steve would want her to be happy, to love someone again, it still felt like a betrayal in some dark corner of her mind to let herself feel the way she did about Angie. Or maybe that was the excuse she used to avoid her fear of being so vulnerable to someone, of waking to discover she was falling and it was far too late to do anything to stop it. Maybe that was the real danger. She wasn’t sure anymore.

But by the time she found herself caught in a firefight in a boarding school in Russia, she’d found herself seriously questioning the wisdom of the half-assed goodbye she’d given Angie. What if she didn’t make it back, and all she’d left Angie with was, “I’m going to Long Island to visit my cousin, I’ll be back in a few days. I promise I’ll take you to see The Postman Always Rings Twice when I get back.” (They’d both admitted to a little crush on Lana Turner.) That, and a goodbye kiss that was long, but, as Peggy was blazing her way out of the basement of a building with half a dozen armed Russians and a hail of bullets following her, she reflected that it had not been nearly long enough.

 

**

 

When Peggy arrived back home, it was late, and she was mildly tipsy, but there was no way she’d have turned down that drink with Thompson, not after the victory they’d had. That _she’d_ had. She was owed every last one of those bourbons he bought her.

Angie opened the door in her bathrobe, clearly having been sleeping and not pleased at having been woken. But her expression changed the moment she saw Peggy, and she grabbed her wrist and yanked her inside, closing the door swiftly behind her.

Peggy dropped her bags to the floor and wrapped both of her arms around Angie, lifting her squirming body off the floor, causing a shriek that Peggy devoured with a long kiss.

“Peg-”

“Angie, i missed you-”

“No, shut up, I missed you.”

Their kisses were the kisses of girls who’d fallen too fast, too hard, and Peggy’s hands were so thrilled to be touching her again that they struggled with the buttons on her black wool coat, until Angie had to help her; only between the two of them did they manage to remove it and toss it to the floor atop Peggy’s bags.

She sighed relief against Angie’s lips, sighed joy against them, sighed her name again, “Angie-”

“Peg, listen-”

Peggy’s hands flew to the buttons on her blouse, just the top two, and Angie was slipping it over her head. They stood in the middle of the room, kissing with a fury as though someone might try to take it from them at any moment and they needed to get their fill.

“Peg, listen.” Angie stopped her after a moment, looked at her, met her intensity, and said, “Peg, listen. Girls like you… don’t usually stick around with girls like me. If you want to go to bed with me, I want that too but… don’t break my heart, ok? It’s been broke enough.”

Peggy's stomach was filled with that Ferris Wheel feeling, her heart riding up and down with the rise and fall of Angie’s chest against hers, and she kissed her mouth again, and told her with conviction, “I’m gentle with my precious things.”

“Oh, Peg,” Angie sighed, and Peggy maneuvered them to the bed, getting rid of Angie’s robe as they went, laughing quietly at the look on Angie’s face, at the red lipstick she’d smeared all over it already. She laid her on the bed, settled into her, dwelling in the anticipation. The sounds of gunfire that had insisted on themselves, even after the bourbon, began to slink away to some other part of her mind; they knew this was not to be their time. It was the time for Angie and her bright eyes and her body dying to be discovered by Peggy’s lips and hands. She could already feel the heat in her blood, racing; the warmth in her sex that she’d been saving till she thought she could afford to spend it again, that she’d been saving for a rainy day when she could let it open, and breathe, and drink.

It was a black silk night, clear and punctured with stars, adorned with a moon that cast pearly glow through the slit between the curtains, but in Peggy’s heart at least, it was raining.

Her mouth made its way from Angie’s lips to her chin, to her neck; her tongue found its way from her pulse points to her ears; her fingers with aching slowness requested and received moans of encouragement from Angie’s slender hips, warm breasts, and the soft crook of her elbows. Drifting on the gentle tide of Angie’s hips moving under her, drinking in the sight of her in the low light, she murmured without thinking, “ _Je vais te couvrir de baisers_ ,” as she lowered her mouth to the space between Angie’s breasts.

Angie lifted her head. “What?”

Peggy stopped and looked up, blushing a little. “Sorry.”

“Was that French?”

“Um, yes it was,” Peggy admitted, more than a little embarrassed. “Sorry. Old habits.”

Angie considered her for a moment, probably realizing that she’d picked it up from the French girl she’d been with, and appeared to decide she didn’t mind. “That’s Ok. What’s it mean?”

“It means,” Peggy answered, moving up her body to kiss her lips again, “that I am going to cover you with kisses.”

Angie grinned and wrapped both legs around Peggy’s hips, squeezing them, and said, “Then please, don’t let me interrupt you.”

She scolded herself to be mindful of not lapsing into French again.  But it was difficult when she so much preferred the French words to their English equivalents.

She rolled off of Angie and slid her hands under the hem of the gauzy pink nightgown, sliding it up and then over her head. Angie lifted her arms to let Peggy slide it off. She took a moment to absorb the sight of her, nearly naked, her arm still extended, the play of shadow and pale light on the curves of her body, looking like Gentileschi's "Danaë"; _how could I fail to want something so lovely_ , she thought, lying down beside her again. Her fingers whispered over Angie's breasts, relishing their response. She wanted to know everything about the ways that Angie liked them treated. She hoped desperately that she liked them kissed. She could almost feel the rosy nipples pebbling on her tongue.

Angie slipped closer and leaned in, her warm mouth making a trail down Peggy's shoulder, and Peggy found herself sighing, feeling Angie leaning into her touch, and dizzily, she murmured, " _Mets tes seins dans ma bouche,_ " continuing to stroke lightly at Angie's firm, little breasts.

Angie pulled back and looked at her again. "What's that mean?"

Peggy immediately blushed again. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, I like it," Angie answered eagerly, "I just wanna know what you said."

Peggy paused awkwardly; it was was so much easier in French, for some reason. But she caught Angie's intrigued look and, feeling suddenly coy, she answered, "Well, it means... I want you to put one of these..." she palmed Angie's breast and stroked the nipple with her thumb, gazing at it hungrily. "...in my mouth," she finished, looking back up at Angie's face.

Angie looked ready to swoon. "Oh my God, Peg," she moaned quietly. "Say it again."

" _Mets tes seins dans ma bouche,_ " she whispered again.

Angie rewarded her, shifting herself upwards and pressing forward to let Peggy's mouth close around her stiff nipple. Peggy sucked gently at it, letting herself enjoy Angie's soft gasps and clutching arms; her body lit up at the sound of the girl's stifled moans. Angie's breasts smelled of lilac soap, and she sighed like a bud on the bough that had been waiting too long to be opened, blossomed achingly under Peggy’s mouth.

The city sat hushed outside the window, even the purr of the traffic seemed to tiptoe past. The night was clear, but it was raining in this bed. Peggy knew, because she was wet, and when she slipped her fingers down, she found Angie was too. Easily, she tugged the underwear off of her, easily she slipped her fingers into her and felt the flutter of her muscles. Softly, her lips made a field of red lipstick poppies down Angie’s stomach, working down to where her fingers were planted, her tongue making Angie’s body bloom like spring, her tongue loosing little moans from her. How delicate and yet how strong she tasted; all at once bitter and sweet and salty and flowery, and overwhelmed with it, Peggy whispered in between strokes, “ _T'as tellement bon goût,_ " before dipping back in again.

Angie’s tension was coiling and she gripped Peggy’s shoulder, her voice pleading through thick breaths, “What’s that in English, English?”

“You taste…” Peggy answered, barely pausing in her kisses, “...delicious.”

Angie whimpered and threaded her fingers through Peggy’s hair again, begging, “Say it again,” but before Peggy could, Angie had coiled tight, then shuddered loose, moaning into a pillow, the soft tide of her hips becoming waves that slapped heavily in the night. Peggy had Angie all over her, her face, her mouth, her hands; it was the most euphoria she’d felt in ages, lying between Angie’s legs and being lashed about by her body’s pleasure tremors.

She stroked Angie through it, extending her glorious orgasm a few sweet moments longer before climbing up the bed to embrace her. After a long, sweet kiss in which angie was eagerly licking the taste off of Peggy's mouth, she teased, "I oughta call you Frenchie."

Peggy rolled her eyes. "I'll spank you for it."

Angie snickered. "You say that like it's a threat."

Peggy smirked. "Anyway, sorry about that, it was incredibly rude of me."

"Oh yeah, that wasn't the sexiest thing that ever happened to me in bed, you should definitely apologize for it."

She rolled over and, suddenly finding new energy, she stripped Peggy, layer by layer, and Peggy surrendered. She was glad to surrender, it felt like a privilege and a joy to give herself up and get lost in Angie’s lips, throwing herself open for her, barely remembering who she was, much less to bite back the songs of her instinct; Angie teased and bit her inner thighs until Peggy couldn’t stand it anymore, begging “ _Embrasse-moi là_ ,” and when Angie raised an inquiring eyebrow she added, “Kiss me there,” brushing her fingers over her own sex, sending a shudder up her body. “Please.”

This was her rainy day, this was what she had been saving her desire for; Angie’s lips, banishing the darkness and soothing the ache of isolation; who knew what else would happen but she belonged to Angie right now, and it was miraculous. “ _Ma chatte t’appartient,_ ” she panted, and Angie didn’t stop, but mumbled around a mouthful of her, “English, English.”

“It’s yours,” Peggy whispered, tensing as she drew closer to release. “It’s yours, it’s yours, my pussy is yours, _ma chatte t’appartient_ ,” and she didn’t know how many times she said it, and there was more after it that she couldn't remember later, but then she was coming, wet as rain, warm as sunlight, and it was all for Angie.

Griffith was quiet. The city outside was quiet. They held each other, and for once, didn’t need to say a thing, and Peggy decided to herself that if ever she were sent on any other mission, that this was the only acceptable way to say goodbye to Angie; they would give their farewell kisses to every inch of each other.

They were spent. They lay in a moment that had no past or future. The night was clear and quiet. And in between their bodies, it was raining.


End file.
